


Series of Crackfics written for the Slash boardgame

by LadyHeliotrope



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Multi-Fandom
Genre: Crack, M/M, Sorry Not Sorry, inspired by the slash boardgame, kinky smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:34:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22500298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyHeliotrope/pseuds/LadyHeliotrope
Summary: Series of Crackfic shorts written for the Slash boardgame
Kudos: 2
Collections: Slash: Romance Without Boundaries





	1. Remus Lupin / Bugs Bunny

Remus unwound himself from Bugs' lanky arms, and tiptoed to the kitchen. He had a surprise, one he hoped Bugs would appreciate.

SQUEAK! The floors of the Shrieking Shack were ancient, and once in a while they'd make some unexpected noises. Remus froze, and listened to hear if he'd disturbed his lover. The rabbit waggled his ears and yawned dramatically, but then turned over.

If Remus heard right, the poor fellow was mumbling, "Watch where ya point that thing, doc." The rabbit still had nightmares about wherever it was he'd come from. Remus wished the gentle creature would trust him enough to talk about it. Maybe someday.

He returned to the bedroom with a brown paper parcel, which he unwrapped beneath Bugs' nose. The rabbit's whiskers twitched, then without opening his eyes, Bugs opened his mouth greedily.

"Nuh-uh-uh, my furry little problem," Remus said, and laid a kiss on Bugs' forehead. "You have to earn it first."

"Aw, come on, doc," Bugs said, sounding much more awake than he'd appeared. His eyes flashed open, and he grinned appreciatively at the werewolf. "Didn't I do enough to please you last night?"

"You certainly satisfied me," Remus answered, and he offered his hand to Bugs' gloved paw. "But now I want *more.*"

"You're so shelfish," Bugs responded with false petulance, rolling over to make room for Remus in bed.

"I know," Remus said, and he settled in next to the rabbit, snuggling his face deep into Bugs' soft fur. "But I get the sense that you like it."

Bugs didn't respond, at least not until Remus pressed his throbbing need into the rabbit's thigh.

"Wow," Bugs said, his American lingo still a little jarring after all these years, "What's up, doc?"

"I think you know what's up," Remus said with a bit of a giggle as Bugs tickled his chin. "Turn over."

Bugs' eyes were wide. "We've never done it when you weren't...transformed...though."

Remus lifted his head, and quizzically looked into Bugs' eyes. "Do you want to, still?"

"Of course," Bugs said, uneasily, "Anything for you, doc. But first..."

He gently disentangled himself from Remus, and then he sat up, cross-legged, on the bed. He removed his gloves, which had always mystified Remus, and Bugs revealed that, in fact, his hands were completely humanoid. The dark skin was like chocolate, and contrasted warmly against the rabbit's grey and white fur.

"Now the rest," Bugs said, "I just never could get the hands." He then squinted his eyes shut.

Suddenly, where Bugs had been, an exquisitely formed young man sat. His brown cheekbones were high and proud, and his hair was cropped short.

"Oh," Remus said, and began laughing. "I guess I should have known you were an animagus. My friends were, too, back when we were students."

"I know," said Bugs, and he smirked. "Do you like what you see?"

"Ever so much," Remus said, and they settled in for a comfortable snog, completely forgetting about the carrot cake that lay discarded on the side table.


	2. Zapp Brannigan / Darth Vader

Middle-aged Darth Vader was feeling particularly incompetent. He'd crashed his training tiefighter on a planet in the Nuu-Nuu quadrant after a failed simulation mission. He thanked his butt there actually was a planet here to land on - there wasn't supposed to be anything at all in this quadrant, according to his atlas, much less a whole planet. But after a series of rookie mistakes, well, here he was. 

And after a series of even more rookie mistakes, he found himself stripped to his bare gadgetry and handcuffed to a plush red heart-shaped bed. A blonde-haired man in a crimson suit was staring him dead in the eyes. 

"As captain of the Starship Nimbus," the man was saying, "I've got a duty to enforce the prime directive." 

"What are you talking about?" Vader demanded. "I find your behavior... disturbing." 

"The prime directive," the man continued, "Of loveeeeeeeeee." 

Without further hesitation, the man tore off his red shirt and tossed it. It landed in the arms of a put-upon alien servant standing in the corner. The servant sighed and trundled off. 

The man was now only wearing his boxers, which were garishly painted with red hearts. With a snap of his fingers, a disco ball descended from the ceiling, and some soft, steady mood music emerged from invisible stereos. 

"So how about we get to *know* each other?" the man said, laying down next to Vader on the bed. His paunchy gut was eerily reminiscent of Darth's own, and Vader felt vaguely turned on, despite himself. This man, in so many ways, reminded him of the man that Vader could have been now, if only he hadn't suffered so much fire and scalding that one time. Bright-eyed, great skin, perfect hair, beautiful...

The other man waffled on and on, but Vader wasn't listening, instead wondering why he found this buffoon beautiful. 

Sensing the time was right, Zapp (that was his name, apparently) removed one of Vader's handcuffs. Out of obligation to escape, Vader attempted to force-choke Zapp in response, but his heart wasn't really in it. 

This resulted in Zapp landing flat on his back, gasping for breath, and Vader was grimly satisfied to see Zapp's member making a splendid entrance through the fly of his boxers. 

"That's... kinky," Zapp breathed, finally getting the strength to sit up. "Let me try." 

"No," Vader said, and he force-choked Zapp again, with a little less force but still enough to knock Zapp flat again. 

Zapp's hand was shaking from the lack of air, but despite this, he started to play with his own cock. Vader let go of the choke, and Zapp gasped for air. "Again," Zapp exclaimed, and Vader obliged. He was starting to like this. 

After Vader let go of Zapp, Zapp gave another gasping shudder, flailed around, and presented his cock to Vader's waiting hand. 

"Say you're my little bitch," Vader said, and Zapp moaned. 

"No, I won't say it," Zapp said, though his tone suggested he was play-acting. 

"Say. It." Vader wouldn't take no for an answer. 

"I... I'm your little bitch," squealed Zapp. 

Suddenly seized by a massive surge of force-fueled strength, Vader threw off his bindings and plunged his robotic mouth against Zapp's, desperately craving the contact. Zapp didn't seem to notice anything amiss, and Zapp's tongue made sweet, sweet love to the dead unfeeling toaster of Vader's helmet mouth. 

Still, somehow, Vader felt a rush of pleasure coursing through him, though their tongues never intersected. Not only that, he began to notice something in the lower part of his suit - something awakening that he thought was long destroyed. Specifically, his Death Star. 

He felt like saying: Screw the Empire. Screw this strange planet. And most of all, he wanted to screw Zapp Brannigan. 


	3. Marie Antoinette  / The SPMM

Marie Antoinette relaxed into her luxurious bed. Things were pretty all right for her, all things considered - her husband was a nerd who kept to himself, and royal life had been good to her figure, which was finally starting to curve in all the right places. 

Some places a little too much, perhaps? Well, she couldn't help herself - beings queen meant unlimited sweets, and sweets had always been her downfall. 

Which meant her newest beau wasn't that much of a surprise, in retrospect. 

Marie shooed away her servants once she undressed from her ridiculous royal fashions. Soon, at the window, she heard the soft tap that she'd been awaiting so eagerly. 

She raced to the balcony, threw open the doors, and sank into the pillow-soft hands of her lover. 

"My sweet," she purred, and no sooner did she lay a kiss on his large round nose did she begin to grind against him, suggesting much more sensual things than kisses. "Enough is enough. No more waiting. Tonight, I will melt you." 

The Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man (TM) didn't utter a response - he was more the strong and silent type - but his giant face floated over the edge of her balcony, a bracing, cheerful smile upon his countenance. The tail of his delightfully cocky little sailor hat waggled in the moonlight. 

And Marie wasted no time. Basking in her man's adoration, Marie undid her top, revealing her oh-so-dainty Royal shoulders and blossoming breasts. The man said nothing, given his silent and stolid nature, but his lips floated closer and c loser to her eager, anticipating, jiggly bosoms. 

"I've been eating quite a lot of cake," Marie said, and added with a smirk, hefting one of them with a coy palm. 

His smile grew even broader. He was, after all, a strong and silent type. 

"Yes," she breathed, and with a grin she lowered her chin, heaved up her breast, and extended her tongue to tantalize her own nipple. Then, she hiked up her dress, revealing that she had gone without her drawers. 

"I hope you're ready for this," she said with a throaty chuckle. 

The Man did not respond, at least not aloud - strong and silent type, remember? - but a Marshmallow erection was growing, making his trousers tight around his fluffy white paunch. 

Noticing this, Marie hurried downstairs to the lower balcony so she could lay her hands upon his chubby white tummy. Then, with a snap of anachronistic elastic, she pulled down his pants. His Marshmallow cock was at least as large as her in terms of width and length, so it wouldn't be practical for fucking her. (Or, erm, possible.) 

But Marie wasn't surprised or disappointed - instead, she'd been creatively contemplating this moment for weeks.

She began to devour him sensuously, licking up and down his distended, engorged Marshmallow cock. 

The Man groaned - and then, much too soon, he began to cum. His flavor poured onto the parquetry, Marie joyously trying to slurp up as much as she could. Once he'd finished, Marie began to laugh with tinkling amusement. 

"There," she said with a laugh. "Won't Voltaire be pleased? We've certainly got enough icing for everyone in the continent to eat cake, now!" 

The man looked aggrieved at the joke, but there was forgiveness in his eternally cheerful eyes. Especially as Marie lay upon her back and began to pleasure herself in the pool of his buttery, warm cum. 


	4. Frodo / Harry Potter

Harry Potter hadn't always known he was gay. But then again, living as a teen hero - and fighting a shadow war with a fascist - kinda made things like evolving sexuality difficult to parse. 

And, well, now he'd figured it out. Years and years too late, perhaps. With three kids and a wife, it seemed impossible to tell anyone.

Nonetheless, Harry told Ginny. He always *had* to play the hero. And she seemed stricken, at first. Until she revealed she'd been cheating on him already, with one of the female Whimpling Waspies Quidditch players. The conversation ended with Harry being in tears (not his plan) and them deciding to stay together for the sake of the children. But privately, they could do whatever - or whomever - they pleased. 

Harry felt pretty damn jealous that Ginny had a girlfriend and he didn't have a boyfriend. Not knowing what else to do, he decided to head to a funky little bar in Knockturn Alley that he'd only heard about. It was called, The West.

It took him a while to find it, and once he found it, it took him a while to go into it. And once he went into it... well, let's just say, it was *underwhelming.* 

Maybe it was just because it was seven thirty in the evening on a weeknight, but this place wasn't seeing a lot of action. There were a few men, lazily drinking and chatting among each other in the darkness of the mood lighting. 

No one looked at Harry. Harry liked it that way. Paparazzi got tiresome after the first twenty years. 

Harry went and ordered a drink, and scanned the room. As he did so, some music started up. A few of the men began to get up and dance. The beat was disco, and a shimmering ball emerged from the ceiling, casting shadows of light across the walls. 

Not much of a dancer, Harry bounced in place, drink in hand. Then his eye caught on someone. 

A petite man with high cheekbones, a heavy mess of unruly curls, and a gaze that suggested he'd been through some shit. 

Harry's chest tensed up, and he realized that was His Type. Other men with nightmares raging in their heads. 

He meandered over, doing an awkward attempt at being casual. "Hey," he said, "can I join you?" 

"It matters not to me," the man said, and he sipped at an oversized tankard of butterbeer. He stared ahead of him as Harry sat down, only turning to look at Harry after several concentrated minutes. 

"I'm Harry," said the Boy Who Lived. 

"Frodo," said the other man, barely looking at Harry. "This place is rubbish, isn't it?" 

"A bit rubbish," agreed Harry congenially. "Do you come here often?" 

"Just when that elf drags me along," Frodo said, and lifted his tankard in the direction of one dancing man. The elf was prancing to the music with such gracefulness that it was absolutely annoying. "This isn't my type of place, really." 

"What is your type of place?" Harry asked, feeling worried. He'd assumed Frodo was gay, or at least bi. 

"Home," Frodo said, and took a long drag of the tankard. "Home, with lots of butter and scones, and tea, and a gently crackling fire, and one or two... close friends." 

Hesitantly, Frodo's free hand laid upon Harry's thigh, disabusing Harry of all worry. It was a caress.

Frodo then snorted. "When the elves said they would take me West, I never imagined it'd be a place like this." 

Not knowing how to respond, Harry just nodded, admiring Frodo's plump dark red lips. 

Frodo proceeded to crack a small smile at the other man. "I think I like you. May I kiss you?" 

"Erm, please do?" Harry said, but it was too late. Frodo's mouth was pressed gently against Harry's. There was something searching in his kiss, a desperate hunger. Harry found it captivating. He hadn't felt so... wanted... in so long. 

Soon enough, Harry's hand was moving to touch Frodo's upper thigh. On the way, his fingers grazed along the front of Frodo's leather trousers, and he was acutely aware of a rising dragon hidden beneath. 

Despite himself, he wrapped his hand around that dragon. He'd never touched a cock before, and found himself unbearably eager to do so for the first time. 

Frodo was wearing a bemused smirk. "Would you like to take this somewhere...more private?" 

"Why bother?" Harry asked, and out of his side pocket he drew a handkerchief. It expanded, once free, into a full-sized cloak, shimmering with light. "When you can create your own privacy here?" 

"Oh," Frodo said, and grinned as Harry swept the cloak over his own shoulders, making him disappear. "I guess we could do that, too." 

So saying, Frodo took a golden, glimmering ring off of a chain kept around his neck, and slipped it on his finger. He disappeared from sight with an instant. 

The two men would go on to have a lifelong relationship of great importance. Perhaps not important to the world, but certainly to each other. But they would never forget that was how they both discovered their favorite kink: invisiophilia. 

**Author's Note:**

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